A Peacekeeper's Story: The White Boots are Tramping
by Pen1
Summary: Long before the Mockingjay was born, before the Hunger Games were created, in the land once known as North America, a spark is lit. A youth, rejected and abandoned by his family and forced to run away from society and all his knows, decides to make a stand and form what we know now as the feared Peacekeepers. This is a story of fears, hope, rejection, despair and love.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Not every soldier who is called a Peacekeeper is an oppressor of the people of Panem.

Well, some are, like Head Peacekeeper Romulus Thread. Soldiers like him are hard bent on dishing out swift and stern justice on a platter, with lashings of a long whip and executions by firing squad as the side dish. Want fries with that? I don't think so. The only fries they would dish out would be immolation, death by the hand or should we say, nozzle, of the flamethrower. Such servants of the Capitol think and assume that every person in the large anarchic Districts, filled with rebellion and hate, has the potential to commit felonies and spark riots that would bring the nation down as a whole. They have no mercy for anyone and they take satisfaction in seeing the 'guilty' scream in agony for his or her crime.

Most Peacekeepers don't even shed a tear at the poverty of the Districts. Abusing the poor and the needy would be the hobby of some, like Head Peacekeeper Cray. He used to be one of the brightest and the most outstanding of his kind, but when you live in the squalor and misery of a dusty coal-producing District, you will surely do anything to lay your hands on money, despite the fact that you at least receive a standard salary while others outdoors literally bath in their blood and sweat to get a single dime. My, the hard times people had to go through! Cray misused the power and the rank that had been bestowed by the good graces of the Capitol by forcing young gals in poverty into prostitution. With him as the lone customer. Had he not been replaced by Thread, more girls would have been deflowered before the time came, contaminated with shame and disgust. That is no how a true Peacekeeper would act and behave. Cray clearly lost his mandate to remain as a keeper of the peace when he called his first girl to his bed.

A Peacekeeper, no matter the circumstances, must abide by all regulations and principles enforced by the Capitol and by his or her superiors. He must not terrorise the people by means of rape, extortion or injustice. Instead, each and every soldier in white must conform to their duties as guardians of Panem, soldiers who stand before the entire world to represent what it means to live with dignity, respect, honour, courage and freedom. I am glad such corrupt and wicked Peacekeepers like Cray have been disposed off. If only Thread were to use his no-nonsense policies with a hint of mercy, he would have done a better job without the entire District covering in fear and obeying the law out of respect instead for the purpose of saving their wretched lives. Well, then the Rebellion came. The second one, that is.

I am disappointed that the Peacekeepers were willing to fight against their fellow brothers and sisters despite the fact that they were serving a tyrant and a monster, who ordered that children be killed in the Hunger Games, to punish generation after generation for the sins of their fathers. If you do not treat your citizens with respect and provide for them policies that could make them happy and satisfied, how do you expect to run a productive country? Although Peacekeepers should not defy the Capitol with all its authority, maybe they should rack their brains and think about the future of their country if the Hunger Games were to carry on. Peacekeepers, as citizens of Panem, should serve the people first and the government second. For countless leaders including President Snow have proven to be mere humans who make mistakes. They cannot be depended on entirely. The people are the ones who determine the road which Panem is going to take. Any government who rules Panem must know that. Surely a yearly tournament sporting barbarism and bloodshed would only serve to draw Panem closer to its downfall, just as it did to North Korea, where its rulers ruled with a bullet to the head rather than an iron fist. At least the true people of Panem won with the help of the Mockingjay, and now Panem is at its best. The Peacekeeper force continues to be a top-notch force of excellence and bravery to this day, with many of its abusive policies overturned and more pacifist notions induced.

As I said, not all Peacekeepers are monsters. Some like Peacekeeper Darius who tried to stop Thread from flogging a youth to dead. One dead youth for the crime of illegal hunting wouldn't do any good. Illegal hunting is a crime out of desperation to provide for a hungry family, so Peacekeepers should at least show a little mercy. Darius had a heart of gold. He mixed in well with the locals, no matter how poor they were and in return, he lost his tongue. Now as a living sacrifice, he lives a better life in District 7. Such soldiers, guardians of Panem should be looked up to as heroes and not as traitors or cowards. They should be given their due and what they deserve.

I am Abel Wilson, and I am the first Head Peacekeeper of Panem. I saw the nation born out of chaos and darkness, just like a baby. I saw it take its first steps and matured into a powerful nation. I stretched out my hands to guide it in its infancy and I hope those who come after me to become Peacekeepers will continue to watch over Panem, nurture it and strengthen it in times of weakness. Although I am in stasis in a dismal chamber concealed under the mansion of President Snow, I am still conscious. I know and I see the deeds of those who have came and went. I am watching. I am listening. I am waiting.

When I decided to go against the old corrupt government of North America, I swore to myself that I would form a better nation, a safer country where everyone could have food, homes, families and fruitful lives. That is why this country was named 'Panem', meaning 'bread'. No one in Panem would ever go hungry. Or so i thought, until the Mockingjay lit the spark.

This is the story, of my past.


	2. Chapter 1: Tension

Chapter 1

"Ring!" the bell signals the end of another exhausting school day. I pick up my books and wearily head down to the locker rooms. "Abel," my best friend Tom, a dark-skinned lad wearing thin spectacles says. "you are going for Jordan's party, aren't you?" "Party?" I muse. "No time for that. Exams are coming next month and we should be hitting the books." Tom groans aloud and says, "Hey, man. Don't be like a nerd. Look at Johnson Beetee over there. He stays in during recess, his nose in his books. I'll bet that he will head straight to the library after school and study until dusk. What a boring life. A life of books and no play." I put out my hands as a show of mock defense. "Hey, I'm just doing what I need to do. I don't wanna flunk and neither do you." I say worriedly. "No one's going to flunk, Abel." Tom grunts in disapproval. With that he grabs his bag and disappears.

I sling mine over my shoulder and hop on my bicycle. As I start to pedal my way home, I hear someone jeering at me from behind. "Now guys, that is what we call a low-life loser. Someone who thinks that he is greater than anyone else all because he works hard and be a good kid and a teacher's pet. Abel is a tell-tale and a weakling." I hear more laughing behind me and I wonder if it is Cato and his goons again. Every time he sees newcomers in the school, he and his friends will subject him or her to a week of teasing and abuse. If they merely bear it (as most would do) or show that they are sporting, they either join the gang or the harassing stops. But in my case, I was a fool and a mere child who was told on day one in kindergarten to report to the teacher if someone teased you. And I did and I became a pariah. Well, not a total reject like Beetee. Just avoided by the ones who don't want to know me and taunted by Cato's guys.

Sometimes I don't understand the country we live in. You may think that I'm worrying about things not concerning my age, and that I should just look to my books or wild parties for that matter. But if you are an American living in what we call the Land of the Free, you had better learn some hard facts and wake up. To put it in a nutshell, take for example the conventional plan of life. You go through school, study hard so that you get a good job. In school, you either study hard to set yourself apart from others only to be scorned, study normally in an attempt to achieve normalcy and acceptance, or just blend in with carefree students, those who bully and live wild and think that God is a joke. Even if you try to choose the right things, you get some stones in the cherries most of the time. I'm not saying that it's useless to work for success. You can earn good grades, a degree in college later on, but at what cost?

Not money, time or energy. Those costs are worth it to be sacrificed in the name of success. But every day I see Johnson Beetee putting his reputation, his sanity and his self-control, the ability to know when enough is enough and his sense of justice on the line with Brandon calling him a 'zombie nerd'. I guess Cato means one who studies mindlessly just for paper qualification. But I know Beetee doesn't. The teachers seem to be blind, either busy in heaps of paperwork or abusing students of different races like African-Americans or Chinese. So blind and busy that they don't have the time to put Cato and others like him to justice, allowing them instead to prowl about like lions to humiliate people, making them feel like cold white trash. The other students of different races have it worse. Cato once extorted money from a dark-skinned girl called Rue Amadi on a daily basis until she transferred out of fear, thus giving our school a bad name. See what I mean?

Come on, you need to think and act rationally, not like a person out of control. I am still fuming over this when I arrive home. I come back just in time to see my older brother Brandon hauled into the house by mum. I feel anxious when I see a cop just at the gate, shaking his head sadly. "He's done it again." the police officer says. "Did what?" I ask. "Got into another gang fight." the cop sighs and leaves. With no other choice, I head into the house preparing myself mentally to absorb every curse that my mum spews out at Brandon.

"You say you want to hang out with friends?!" she screams. "Friends who waste their time on the streets and deal with gang wars and drugs and you want to join them! I'll give you something to hang out with." I hear a clang and a resounding whack. Brandon storms out of his room with a bruised cheek and shouts back, "So what? I didn't even pick up a blade to stab that kid! I just made myself scarce. And I don't want to be stuck in this stupid house, with you and your useless 'religion' and just look at what all these did to my little bro." He glances at me almost pitifully. "Brainwashed him and made him think all your stupid ideas and nagging. Made Abel a dull Jack. I'm just sick of this stupid family and this stupid life of mine!" With that, the door slams and he's gone.

That's Brandon for you. He's not a bad sort, but he had it worst than me before when dad was into heavy drinking and gambling. Dad drank and gambled the car and grandpa's fortune away as a rash young adult. He got to his senses too late to find that the results were one stressed out nag of a wife and a rebellious teenager. True effects of a neglected household. Then I came along. Brandon knows what's right and tries to stick with it, but he voices out his disagreements constantly and tries to emphasize it. I have no qualms about it but mum always takes it as rebellion. Let me say this for mum's case, if you always take everyone around you as your enemy, all you'll have will be enemies and not a single friend in the world. But I guess I can't blame her as she has had years of being distrustful even to her own husband, who used to beat her for money to satisfy his lusts. At least dad now works late into the night in an office and attends counseling every weekend. Court-ordered.

Mum looks as me as if she would eat me up in one gulp and says, "Abel, you had better start with the house chores or else you'll be useless cold trash like your brother! Get to work now or else I'll also give you something to hang out with like your brother." As I scramble to settle down and to get the broom, she receives a phone call from a church deacon for some project. "Alright, I'll be coming along." she says. After admonishing me to continue my daily tasks, on pain of the belt, my mum disappears from the house for the day. As I sweep the floor carefully, I muse to myself what a show my mum is putting on, a busy, efficient and a likable worker and community leader outside, but a nagger and an angry disciplinarian at home.


	3. Chapter 2: Samantha

Chapter 2

I'm very sorry to say that my life is not a bowl of cherries. It is more like bumping on a bad road. Although you get some stones in cherries, the red flesh is sweet and juicy. As for a bumpy road as my life is concerned, well, get your derrier ready for impact.

When I was a kid, my mum whipped me with a belt for everything ranging from forgotten house chores to bad grades (which meant a B when i could have got an A) to Brandon's involvement in another gang activity. One time Brandon only followed some classmates of his on a short cycling trip about town, and my mum still hasn't forgiven him for it just because he didn't ask for her permission. Come on, this isn't such a terrible felony to warrant the death sentence, and at my brother's age, you'll expect him to hang out with his buddies more often rather than being cooped up with a prison of books all around you. Well, that's what Brandon thinks about books, thus leading to more bad grades and more lashings. I try my best, but I'm not spared of the brunt of her anger.

I think it is more of dad's fault than mum's that we have to live like this. Direct hurt is bad enough but neglect is worst. My father who should be the head of the family and the man of the house is rather spends his time in the office to avoid mum's antics rather than face up to her and say that enough is enough. To me, he's no man, but a coward. A shameless coward. And whenever Brandon actually stays up late enough to see him come home, and starts chewing him out, dad just puts on a fake smile and promises all kinds of activities like father-son camp-out next weekend or a nice family dinner at some fancy French restaurant in town. Trust me, all his promises and attempts to mend the cracks are fantastical.

So mum is left to deal with the garbage. Or so she calls it. As she is doing now...

"I can't believe I have to do all this rubbish!" she screams so loudly that I'm sure our neighbours can hear us. "Your stupid dad hides in his office to drink and leaves all the dirty work to your mother! You forgot to take the trash out again! You want me to dump it on your bed so that you can sleep with it?" "I'm sorry." I murmur. But she swipes at me with her infamous belt and I dodge it. "Shut up, fool!" she yells. "Saying sorry is nothing if you don't change, just like your brother. Saying sorry just to shut me up, or shedding crocodile tears is foolish! You think you have a maid at home right? No TV and no computer for two weeks, and if I see you on those two, I'll kill you with my bare hands. You get me?" "I don't watch TV and my computers under repairs." I say rather sadly as I trudge upstairs. I feel disappointed with my mum sometimes. But at least she held the fort without giving up when dad was still clinging to the bottle. There's a high rate of divorce cases nowadays and none of them are pretty.

The next day, I sit down at class in school once more. Tom comes in and winks at me. He does it when Samantha comes around. I'm not sure why he does it, but maybe he assumes that I have a crush on her. I refuse to comment on the matter as in doing so I may be proved as a liar.

"Hi, Samantha." I say. "Hi, Abel." she says with a smile. I don't remember a time I caught her without a smile. Even her eyes dance with laughter. No wonder even the bullies at school don't bother her nor harass her as they would do to other girls. Beetee used to tell me that God sent angels down to earth in the form of good kind individuals who somehow have this unusual aura of goodness and peace about them. Just like Samantha. She's polite, gentle and not cursing like other brusque gals who are influenced by MTV and bad boys. Furthermore, she prefers trousers whereas many girls in our class come in wearing shorts that are so short that you could mistake them for wearing undergarments. Samantha really like sunflowers despite the majority of the females preferring boyfriends and cosmetics...

"Hey, daydreaming again?" Tom muses as he flips the pages to his notes. "No, just-" I begin to say. "I know, that mum of yours and all." he says calmly as if he were drinking a cup of tea. "Since when did I tell you my family secrets?" I pout. "Come on, anyone can tell with one look on your face. You come to school without a smile, but after setting your eyes on Samantha, you go home happy." he says jokingly. "You can be right." I admit seriously. Then we spot Samantha looking at us questioningly as if she had overheard us and Tom guffaws, much to my chagrin.

Later during break, I spot Samantha carrying a big stack of books to her locker. "Need help?" I say. "No thanks." she grunts. But in the end, I take half the pile and help her carry it. "You know, a helpful and kind boy like you shouldn't always look so sad." Samantha says as she shuts and locks her locker. My eyebrows curve with confusion. Too many people have commented on the general look on my face today. "You know, you're right." I brighten up. "What's your secret to keep smiling every day?" "The little things," she says. "Things like flowers, colours, kindness and the good deeds people do. You should look for that every day and that will keep you going." Samantha beams. "That's deep." I say. "No, it just needs you to be more alert." she corrects me. Then that sunny smile flashes across her face again, and I feel blissful. Samantha says cordially, "I'm having a house party next week. Want to come?"

House party? Never had one before. The last one I went to was at Tom's and it was fun. "Alright, if I don't have anything else to do." I say, but she cuts me off, "No ifs. See you next week!" Then off she goes with her neat ponytail swinging merrily.


	4. Chapter 3: A Politician's Stand

Chapter 3

"Senator Johnson, you may speak."

The voice of the Speaker of the House is loud and commanding enough to cut off the jeering and booing of the other senators and Senate members. The apparent head and overseer of the meeting, the President himself looks distressed. Fortunately, this is a closed meeting and every interfering and inquisitive cameraman or reporter is barred from entrance by the tough guards that stand outside. And every insult and joke is thrown at one person and one person alone: Senator Kennedy Johnson.

Born during the time when America was at war with Vietnam, drugs and peace signs, Johnson was named after two of his father's favourite Presidents, Lyndon Johnson and John F. Kennedy. He was brought up to be a good American boy who would stay away from weed or irritating 'religious' fanatics who went around with pamphlets and peace hand signs, and to go to church and read the Bible. But his beloved dad was drafted for mandatory military service and that the last thing Johnson heard of his father was that a mortar round hit his father's tent, killing everyone. Since that day, he decided to be a politician to help people and to make sure that his country needn't go to war or suffer from disease, poverty or dissatisfaction. But not everyone would think this way!

At the start of the meeting, more politicians were encouraging the use of lethal force to combat the trouble brewing in the Middle East. The market was not at its best as the Arabs had increased the price of oil and had just recently found more deposits, pointing clearly that shortage was no cause for price rises. The same trouble could be found with China as they had a growing population and a good base for manpower. Soon the US would be left out in the race for technological advancement and fame, if it were not for American military might and cultural influence as in the English language and warships. But Johnson had other ideas.

"We should not raise our arms to fight for what is not ours. The Arabs found the oil and not us. Even if we have bought a majority of oil shares, they dug it with their own machinery. We should be thankful that they are selling it to us. If you want a better reasonable price, we should reason with them." Johnson says. "You greenhorn!" laughs a older senator. "Business is business. Do you think we can be gentle like ballerinas to let them get away with it. The reality is this, no oil, no fuel. No fuel, no development and then no money coming in, people have riots and all hell as we know it breaks out. And we won't let those stinking Arabs steal all that oil!" he bangs his fist on the table to the nods of many.

"That oil is ours. We are Americans and we will get what we want. Of course we won't pull guns on them, but if necessary..." he trails off. "How about switching to alternative fuel resources like solar and wind power?" Johnson asks. Another member obviously involved in energy works jumps to his feet and says, "Senator, that technology is not available at high capacity now. Maybe in a decade it will be possible." "No, it can't!" Johnson exclaims. "Mr. Speaker, sirs, we can't keep saying that it will be done in a decade. Look at NASA. We are not making much progress, are we? If we just stick to doing tests and making big telescopes that keeps us on earth, wasting money and time by not being brave to venture out into the unknown, other countries will develop their own rockets to got to the moon. Look at China and India. They will be sending men to the moon next year. How much more for fuel production? How can we boast of NASA's great achievements in space exploration when we can't deal with things back down here on earth?"

The NASA director grimaces with embarrassment and anger. "Come on, at least we have good Social Services, Medicare and all the other things that makes the American life comfortable." a tired woman drawls. "Good, you say?" Senator Johnson asks jokingly. "Why do we hear on the papers every day of workers going on strike when downsizing occurs. Downsizing was never meant to exist at all. We should be expanding our horizons across the world before we do it in space. Instead of taxing the people non-stop and burdening the middle class, we should help them out not by merely giving subsidies. We should educate the people to do business the right way and save money instead of exploiting the economic system to fill our coffers and get guns. 'Teach a man to fish' as they say."

"Mr. Johnson, I'm afraid you've got out of topic." the Speaker of the House exclaims. "We are discussing and debating only international issues and here we are, quarreling about petty matters at home! Which country in this big world does not have its share of problems? Even the Singaporeans with their low debt rate and high living standards have protests to content with! People will never get really satisfied because they are human!" As he waves his hands in indignance and the others nod or grumble, Johnson says something which turns the tide:

"How can we deal with matters outside our nation if we can't handle the so-called petty things at home? If we cannot make our people satisfied at most, how can we guarantee stable connections with other nations? Take for example Iraq. How can we assure the locals there that the US can manage things as well as things back home? If we cannot give the people what they need to prosper, to grow and be fruitful, we will not only have failed the American people, but we will be left behind in the competition for development and excellence globally. We need to take a step back, study ourselves well and make the proper adjustments."

Everyone starts booing and folding paperwork into paper airplanes or scrunching them into missiles to throw at Senator Johnson.

"Don't be a pessimist!"

"You little s**t of a greenhorn! Politics ain't for you!"

"Get the f*** out of here! Who are you to judge what's right?"

"Enough!" The President himself, George Santos, an elderly man with a bald head and steady eyes rises from his seat. "Who are we to mock this senator who cares enough for his country than the rest of you!" His voice is stern and firm. "Senator Johnson, I understand that your views do have a point. Therefore, I hereby order that all the government organizations and all politicians' performances be reviewed beginning next week. This will be done strictly and every sore limb will be cut off! We will look at our failures, patch them up and we will be the America that people look up to once again." Everyone starts murmuring but President George says, "Hold it! Senator Johnson, I as the President of the United States hereby give you the task of leading the process of reviewing and reorganizing the various government departments and so on as you have shown potential as a leader that this country needs. Will you take up this challenge?"

"It's my pleasure, Mr. President. Thank you." With that, applause fills the room. The once who had been hoping for hope for the nation are glad and eager to help this new leader. But there are those who only look to their own profits and gain, who scorn this leader and vow to fight against him from the shadows. As people clap and cheer, they nod at each other grimly and decide that they have to counter this threat through treachery and betrayal before their activities of exploitation are discovered...


	5. Chapter 4: The Terrible Night

Chapter 4

"Thanks for inviting me. It was a great party." I say as Samantha's dad drives me home. She had generously offered to let me hitch a ride, and as far that I could tell, her dad liked me. "You are welcome, Abel." Samantha beams. "It's not a bad idea to invite him more often." her dad says. "Abel's a nice kid." "Thanks, dad." she giggles. But I am not laughing away. I spot the flashing red-and-blue headlights of the police car right in front of the house, and I know trouble's right on the front lawn. Literally. Samantha's dad halts in time to see a scuffle in the front. Two policemen and some neighbours are trying to pull my brother and mum apart from each other. Dad is lying unconscious , bleeding from a nasty cut on the head. It doesn't take a genius to figure out who did it as the biggest policeman is attempting to pluck the baseball bat from her hand while struggling with this vicious woman. "What happen?" Samantha's dad gasps.

"My mum. That is my family." I say coldly as I step down from the car. "Wait up, I'm coming with you. Samantha, lock up and stay in the car." the 40-year old father says. I don't object but head to the commotion. "What in the heck is going on?" I say quietly, silencing everyone not with the volume of my voice, but with the cold tone that hides anger and disappointment. Then someone speaks. "Dad got drunk." Brandon, my brother says. "Returned home to ask for more money since he blew his pay on horse racing, something mum didn't approve off, so mum hit him. So I called the cops and this is how it is..."

"You shut the f&*K up!" mum screeches in a near demonic voice and swings the bat at him. Brandon dodges rather badly to receive a hit on his arm, but he doesn't cry out. He sends a punch at her in return but the nearest policeman to him jumps out to stop him, only to receive the punch. As the stunned policeman falls back over heels, mum yells like a crazy drunkard with her face all contorted with fury and madness. She knocks the other policeman and lunges for Brandon. "Stop!" I cry as I push Brandon off, only for her murderous hands to grip my neck as she slams into me. The next second is hellish. The grip on my neck becomes as tight as a good Boy Scout knot and my own mother is strangling me, her own son. She's insane from all that stress and public embarrassment of having a rebellious teen and a gambling drunkard of a husband. No, make that the grip of a monster's claws. I can't figure out what is going on about me. I hear screaming, cursing and insulting in twenty different voices, one of which sounds inhuman.

"You useless son! I will kill you with my bare hands! You want to join your f%^king father and brother in hell!" she screams. I can hardly breath as her hands tighten around my throat. I don't have to be a doctor to know that an elongated period of the lack of air intake can be fatal. My head feels like bursting anytime and all I know is pain, pain, pain. Then the hands release me and relief and air washes in before I pass out.

* * *

><p>I wake up in the hospital with a collar wrapped about my neck and Samantha seated near the bed with Tom and her concerned father.<p>

Samantha keeps whimpering most of the time as she had never seen such a cruel thing happen to me before. Her dad pats her gently while Tom explains what has gone on so far. Because of the incident, mum and dad divorced in an obviously ugly session at court. Dad tried to hide all his money and assets, whatever that has worth from mum so that she wouldn't get it and become more cruel especially to his kids. But the court put some kind of restraining order that made him pay out half of everything. Worst of all, mum could be jailed for assaulting a police officer plus domestic violence, but some manic hardcore woman's rights organization didn't check all the facts and slammed a lawsuit on the police department, thus forcing the authorities to pass a more lenient sentence: counseling. And from my recent experience, counseling didn't went well with dad anyway. First, he got back on the bottle and then to the racetrack-of horses. So I have zero expectations on the success rate of her 'reforming' sentence. Brandon got sent to Camp Stag, a correctional boot camp for juvenile offenders.

I don't care about women's rights or anything, but if something is wrong then it is wrong. The way my own mum strangled me, I should be put up for adoption, not returned to her to be tormented more.

Of course Tom and Samantha's folks couldn't do anything. Samantha cried all day, but like I said, no one could do anything for me.

I stayed at the hospital for two weeks. On the second last day, she came to talk.

"I'm so sorry for you. I didn't know what you went through every day. Your mum is terrible." she says with tears in her eyes.

"It could have been worse. I could be stone dead if your dad didn't stop her." I say.

"I wish I could do something for you. But the court order and all that..." Samantha starts sobbing.

"I know. It's silly business. But I should be able to survive."

"Dad's trying to talk to lawyers, welfare officers and all that but they keep stalling for time! And in the meantime, you have to go home to a terrible mum." she says. "I can't even let you stay with me."

I don't realise it, but a tear rolls down my cheek. Samantha reaches out and wipes it away before I can say anything. "I don't know how to thank you for trying to help me." I say, my voice cracking up. "This isn't my best, but we'll try to do something. Dad says that it cruel to do it. You could indeed get hurt worse." Samantha says. "I really don't know what else I can do, but can you promise me to hold on and survive until there is a way to help you?"

"I will." I promise, my heart aching and my eyes welling with tears.


	6. Chapter 5: It Comes to a Head

Chapter 5

Cato smirks as he sees me coming by at school. "Hey loser." he taunts. "Where did you get that black eye from?" "I tried to avoid a car on my bike and I went into a lamp post." I lie, not wanting to make things more complicated. Cato and his goons start laughing and chuckling. He laughs so hard that he holds his stomach in mock ecstasy and hangs on to one of his pals for support. In time, Cato and his friends begin whooping and howling as a spasm of laughter hits them, that everyone in the locker halls looks at them strangely. I have no idea that I am that good at making jokes and anecdotes.

"Seriously, Abel." Cato chokes. "Man, that was a very good lie. A very good one. Who in this whole school doesn't know that you live with a f%^king momma that bits you like a piece of crap and sent your bro to boot camp?"

Lightning hits me in a flash. "What?" I sputter with disbelief, totally caught out of the blue. Cato grins and pats me on the shoulder. "Trust me, I don't hire moles for nothing. Lionel here was delivering pizza on his bike pass your house and saw everything unfold." He points to a sly-looking thin teen who winks at me. I catch the smell of cigarettes in his breath. "Lionel saw your momma whacking your pap like a bitch, and then your bro, and next she tried to strangle you rougher than a WWE superstar! Oh my!" he chuckled. "And your girlfriend came along with her dad and she was screaming like a poor whore who has had her knickers stolen..."

"Enough!" I demand, my eyes blazing.

"Cool it, man. All the ladies do that especially when their men are being beaten up. And it's natural. I would scream if my gal were on fire too. I guess after that, the law totally was so f%$ked up that your mum got out! She's gonna whack your ass so hard that it'll fall off. Besides," his smile turns lecherous. "maybe your momma will make sure that you won't have a Father's Day to look forward to. How disappointing for your girlfriend."

By then everything had peeked to the maximum. I couldn't take it any longer. "Stop it!" I shout so loudly that everyone around us stop in their tracks and start crowding in to see the argument. "If you say another thing about my mum, my family or whoever else, I'll-"

"You'll what, hah? Tell a teacher? Please, you are not in preschool. If you call yourself a man and you yourself are, meet me at the basketball court today at recess and we'll see if you have the balls to protect your girlfriend." Cato's face is flushed with anger at being challenged so openly in his territory, but he still has that smile which means no good. His goons turn to the crowd and announces, "Sorry, no fight now. But later, we'll have it!" The general school populace cheers and gibbers with excitement.

The morning classes are miserable. Everyone seem to avoid me as if I had committed murder. Whenever I move from one class to another, I see Cato glancing at me, giving me a teasing look. I feel like punching him in the face, but I tell myself that aggression is not my personality. Tom and Samantha look distressed at my situation, but I know that I will not fight just to save my reputation. That would not be very men will only fight with words.I make up my mind to report it before things get out of hand.

But the moment I step into the locker halls, a crowd of rough kids burst in roaring. They grab me before I can say 'gangsterism' and force me out to the basketball court where Cato stands waiting. I don't see any recess monitors so panic rushes through my veins. All I see about me are rowdy bad kids who don't care about right and wrong, and Cato's goons who heat up the fire of excitement by urging Cato on.

"Trash him!"

"He's challenging you! Beat him!"

"He's a piece of junk. Don't worry Cato!"

"Don't look like a scared mouse, Abel." Cato smirks. "The teachers are in a staff meeting and we will be uninterrupted. Are you going to show that you are a man, or do i have to remind you how pussy you are, having a f%^ked up mother?"

"No, I'm not going to fight with you." I say adamantly. "What's your problem anyway? Why do you want to pick a fight?"

"Because you tried to show that you're the boss. Because you are a self-righteous bitch. I'll give you a little motivation."

Two of his biggest and baddest goons turn up, one dragging a dazed Tom and the other struggling with a terrified Samantha. "No!" she screams. "Don't fight him!"

I am speechless. These guys really want a fight. But I will do as Samantha says. I won't fight.

"Fine." Cato's fist flies into Tom's face as the poor boy is ensnared in the arms of the nine-feet tall gangster. I can only stand there helplessly as Cato's fists fly and my best friend groans with pain until blood drips to the ground. I feel sickened by such an act of violence. But still...

"No, I won't. A real man does not fight with his fists, but with words. And your words are not even words, but curses and foul insults. That shows you are a coward and a real coward you are, a half-man." I say angrily. Cato stares at me in disbelief for ten seconds. Then he yells, "You want to be a man with words? I'll show you how it is to be a man." He swings his fist at me, but I dodge it to the excitement of the onlookers. I dodge a quick swipe and another. But I am knocked to the ground by an unexpected kick. I get up to my feet, nursing a bruise on my right arm. Another punch comes in, but I dodge it just in time for his fist to mistakenly land on the nearest bystander's face. As she crumples to the ground, Cato swears under his breath and grabs the chair a goon of his hands him. My eyes widen as he throws the chair at me. I leap out of the way and watch it sail past my head at the thin sly fellow who betrayed me. The piece of furniture breaks into two as it makes contact with his body, invoking the screams of the female audience and the applause of the males. Tom not included.

I thank my lucky stars that I am still alive. Then it must have gone to Cato's head that there is no use throwing punches at me as he strides over to Samantha and says, "Let her go." I know it is not for a good reason, so I say, "What do you want? What are you going to do?"

"This." Cato smiles so broadly that his face is about to break any time and grabs Samantha so roughly by the hair that she squeals with pain. To my horror and the euphoria of the others, he kisses her full on the lips and my rage overtakes me, overwhelming my conscience and my morals. I fly for him, screaming with rage and knock a surprised Cato down. His goons race in to protect their force, but with some powerful inhuman energy in me, I beat them off by myself and even grab another chair to bring it smashing on a gang member of his who goes out like a light. I turn on Cato and a kick to my face sends me staggering back, but I don't go down. My nose is bleeding from that hit from a dark-skinned goon and my clothes are torn. I feel aching and bruised, but my mind is not on those. Images of Tom being tortured by useless fellows and Samantha kissed by a bastard play repeatedly in my head, fueling all the hate and anger. I have had never felt such madness even at home with an abusive mum.

"Come on! I like your spirit! Do your worst." Cato jeers me on. I charge at him and I feel his fists embed themselves in my chest. But anger is only too good as adrenaline as I attack him with might I never knew I possessed. His smile disappears, only to be replaced by shock and surprise. I push him to the ground, sit on him and pummel him like hell. My fists never stop even when I feel blood on them. I batter him until I hear him whimpering and gasping for air. I would not have stopped, if not for Tom and Samantha pulling me away from Cato.

"What on earth is going on?" a teacher shrieks as she dashes in. She gasps with astonishment and horror at the sight of my bleeding fists and the bruised Cato. I can only look down on the ground and contemplate on my fate as a vicious child.


	7. Chapter 6:A Sudden Idea

Chapter 6

"You will stay here until I find a way to deal with you, you selfish and terrible child!" my mum screams. "I didn't know I raised such a monster!"

The basement door slams shut and I only have the darkness and dusty articles about me to content with as my companions. I sink to the ground with tears of desperation rolling down my cheeks as I think back on the fateful day's events.

After Samantha and Tom pulled me off, I was marched to the principal's office and interrogated as if I were a war criminal. I told the teachers that Cato provoked me and tried to hurt Tom and Samantha, but Cato's goons yelled and made a hubbub about me molesting Samantha and trashing both Cato and Tom up. I don't know if the rule is 'tell the truth and it will set you free' or 'the louder you scream, the better'. The principal started listening to those bullies instead of me and my friends, despite the facts that we were the victims and that Cato had at least ten records or so on his disciplinary charts. The worst thing I had done before was forgot to bring a book to class.

No matter how much I pleaded and voiced up, the principal demanded me to stop telling lies and to admit the truth. "Truth?" I sputter. "What truth? THIS is the truth! Cato and his friends ganged up on me and my friends. He hit Tom, molested Samantha and forced me into a fight. I know that to throw punches at him was wrong, but he could do worse things to them!"

"Shut up!" the principal growls. "We will check the evidence on CCTV cameras soon. In the meantime, we will assume that YOU caused a gang fight and YOUR friends were your accomplices. Stay in for detention today after school." "But, but-" Tom tries to speak up. "Don't challenge me, or you will be suspended effectively. Just because you all are smart A grade-students doesn't mean that you can act like hooligans as you like. You are dismissed."

I don't know how I got through detention without breaking down. Detention is oddly simple and time-wasting, the procedure being you sitting in an empty room for an hour, not allowed to do anything. And if you do, the moderator, the principal himself will see to it that you spend an hour longer. The silence in the room was killing me and the sheer embarrassment of being some kind of criminal nearly suffocated me. Of course if I really were a bully, I wouldn't care about it. I didn't see Tom and Samantha come in to join me in this unfair punishment, because I hid my face in my hands for the whole hour, cursing Cato, the unfair policies of the school, the wretched bureaucracy of school policies and whatnot.

Actually, detention only lasted for half an hour as the teachers got word back from the support staff in charge of the CCTVs. Turns out I was right. They had just punished innocent students and made marks not only on his record but his reputation and his emotional being. I couldn't control myself and roared my rage, "You just sent us for detention just because you thought we were the real troublemakers?! With no evidence. What kind of school is this? Detention first and questions later?" "It's just a procedure." one of the teachers try to calm me down. "we need to..." "To what? Stifle aggression?" I thunder. "Believe me, I have had my violence quota overdone for today." Then I stalked out of the door.

"Abel, wait!" Samantha hurries after me. I stop for a while and asks, "What is it?" "The principal says that he'll deal with the bullies correctly. It's just that Cato's parents are big shots. They are government officials and the main sponsors of the school." "Forget about sponsors, rules are rules!" I say. "I remember that he promised to make it up to us, but this kind of rubbish is unacceptable! To listen to bullies and not to productive students is stupid! If this is the kind of principal that is running the school, I might as well call it quits. That is, if I didn't go to school for nothing. Just," I force myself to inhale to calm my nerves and say, "Samantha, Cato's not going to stop at nothing to do more things once he's found out. Just avoid him and have nothing to do with him. Tell Tom too. Take care."

When I arrived at home, my mum was already waiting at the doorstep with a baseball bat. Cato stood by the door, grinning at me. He looks surprisingly fine except for a black eye and a missing tooth. "How now? I told your mum." he says. "Good luck." Cato pats me on the shoulder and leaves.

I am forced to endure a merciless beating and a more merciless cursing from my enraged mother, who was fed with lies from Cato about her vicious son, beating him for no reason. Parents should be more sensible, but this one being on the verge of insanity obviously isn't. Now I am locked up in this dismal basement, left to myself. I wonder how terrible can this day get, when the door bursts opens and my brother, Brandon gets thrown in. "You got out early for good behaviour." mum shrieks. "Now let's see if you will do the same!"

"Fought a bully at school, huh?" he smirks to me. "Yeah, but he was about to kiss Samantha." I say. "Ya a gentleman, you know that?" Brandon says. "Just to tell you, sometimes school authorities are a pain in the ass." "I know right." I complain. "At least they acquitted me."

"Oh no, they won't." Brandon says. "Everyone's gonna treat you like a criminal from now on. Whoever enters the principal's office becomes worse off than a nigger in the old days."

After a brief silence, I say, "Brandon, I can't take it any longer. All this suffering and all this pain. I feel like no one cares about me"

"Just bear it, OK? Hell, who am I talking to? You still have four years or so and I have two before we become eighteen, then we can get out of here and do what we want." Brandon scowls, trying not to look depressed.

"I want to just disappear, and have no one to look for me."

"You mean run away?" Brandon bursts out laughing. "Christ, no. Let me tell you something. A friend of mine called Raymond ran away from his religious family. They joined the Church of Scientology apparently. They tried to forced him into Sea Org, some space navy, he said. Who knows that the Sea Org was a ruse to get youths like him to do sad back-breaking work like cleaning a whole ship from stern to stern or some kind of shit. So he ran away as the people there were like the Gestapo. They would punish you for any mistake, and invade your home and pressure you if you tried to leave. Raymond lived on the streets, eating from dumpsters and washing at public toilets, but the Sea Org guys tried to kidnap him. He was almost caught five times and almost raped by two gays. Raymond ended up committing suicide to escape another Sea Org attempt to get him back."

"Come on, I have no stock in that junk." I say. "Well, just to say that out there in the streets, there will be gangsters and rapists all out for your blood. Hell, you could end up selling crap just to save your skin. Where would you live? What would you eat? And most of all, how do you stay free? If you are going to disappear, mum's gonna call the cops and everyone across the US is going to look for you. Abel, you better think properly if you want to run away, cause it's gonna change your life for good or for worse. And most stories turn out bad. You either get caught alive to be sent to some reform camp like me, or dead and cold like Raymond."


	8. Chapter 7: Planning to Run Away

Chapter 7

Mum finally got Brandon out of the basement, but only to make him clean the house like a slave. She hasn't hit him yet, but he told me that the day she does will be the day that he will beat the shit out of her. Brandon doesn't want to be treated like an animal.

I stare at the cold leftover spaghetti that must have been her meal. At least mum left me a bottle of water. I gobble up the food hungrily, only to see my brother looking in. "Hey, I saw her emptying the trash bins for that, so don't treat that crap like a feast." Then he continues sweeping the stairs to the basement.

I continue thinking about the recent idea to run away. I have no one to go to, no one to run to for help. I cannot look to Tom or Samantha for help as I don't want to put them to more trouble. Brandon told me that you could get arrested for boarding a runaway,as this could be a case of abduction. I cannot go back to school to face Cato and his bullies, nor stay at home to stand with the wrath of mum. I don't know how's dad's doing, but chances are he's gambling and drinking away as happy as ever. But Brandon figures that he would go broke and end up arrested for debt anytime.

I can't see myself going anyway now. I have heard lots of stories of kids running away, getting into drugs, becoming pregnant (for girls, that is) and ending up stone dead after a gang fight, or starved on the streets, nourished only by weed. Judging by the condition of my family, I am find myself becoming one of those abandoned kids, disgraced and scorn by the people who were supposed to protect and take care of them. Most of the motherly instinct, the parental feelings that all mother's should have have been wiped out from my mum. These days mum keeps me under lock and key while Brandon is treated like a maid. The most motherly thing she does now is to feed us leftovers, cold soggy chow fit for a rodent, other than cursing us or leaving us to contemplate on our uncertain futures.

I'm surprised that the authorities haven't sent cops and welfare officers to break into the house yet, but I know that the day they do, I'm as good as dead. Most likely we'll be put in some youth hall like the place Brandon was sent to for his crimes or shipped off to some unwilling foster family who will treat us worse than apes. Believe me, I've heard a lot of those stories at school. No matter the outcome, it's not going to be good.

As days go by, Brandon is beginning to lose his grip on the situation. I can see his hands shake as he sweeps the floor when mum's shadow falls on him, his eyes glow and his face reddens with what I can only call anger. It scares me and I tremble every time it happens. It is as if my brother had been transformed from a teen into a time bomb, bidding its time to cause mass destruction. I can understand that nearly full grown teenagers would start to question and reason, and when they are threatened, they will definitely begin to rebel and fight against the tyranny of their parents and teachers. That is why we have so much problems in society with drugs, teenage pregnancy, gangster wars and alcoholics. If my brother is correct, it is a matter of time when he will raise his fist against mum. So I can't help him, as I'm in no position to do so, despite the fact that I'm his brother and that I know him. Brandon has more humanity than mum, but if you try his patience and understanding, he'll rebel.

It strikes me that I have to run away, escape from all this mess. I cannot survive under such extreme circumstances. Here, there is no hope. No hope for freedom, no hope for a better family, no hope for a good plan to chart out my future. A pastor once said that you are stuck in the family that you are born in, so live with it and be happy. If that is the case, then I'm screwed. I've to get out of here before mum loses it and Brandon too. And maybe they'll fight, with the way things are going on. I don't want to be there to witness that kind of violence when my brother finally rises up to rebel against this injustice. I had better plan my exit before things get rough.

It will be better for them if I were gone anyway, even though they don't fight. My friends would be protected too, for that matter. With my absence, they could forget about it and just move on. Cato and his goons would just laugh about it and forget it after downing lots of booze. Tom will to eventually even though he's a decent guy. But Samantha, I don't know...

After a lot of thinking and consideration, I put down Plan A and Plan B. Plan A is basically living in the streets, as an anonymous student looking for a part time job and a cheap flat unit. I may have to look to soup kitchens and the generosity of passersby for food. Maybe I may have to bug out and sleep out in the open, like the homeless people if no opportunities pass my way. Given the chances that mobsters or drug dealers are always prowling the streets especially in big cities, I may have to learn some self-defence skills or get a knife, a stun gun. Stun guns are expensive, so a knife or a pepper spray would be the cheaper alternative. But if I can get a small room to stay in, and a part time job like a shop assistant or dishwasher once I get away as far as possible, I will be less detectable and the odds of building a better life would be greatly increased. Many start small, don't they?

Plan B is escaping to the wild, living on greens and meat of animals. That ensure that you won't be caught easily. But you'll need to be like Bear Gryllis, being an expert in making woody shelters and surviving out in the open, where the elements of nature like rain and wild beasts are harsher than gangsters. Not much of a life to eke out, but if you don't want to be found and treated like a loser, it's the last option. Things like a knife, matches, rope and so much more are so useful. There's lots of woods and things like that, the wilderness is the US and dry deserts in Mexico, that is if I even get that far. But we'll worry about that when it comes to Plan B.

I know the risks involved in running away, living without the supervision and protection of a home and all that. But the way I see things is this: if you stay here, there's no getting good grades and heading to college for the promise of a good job. You'll be stuck in a home where mum curses you for a living and treats you like her personal maid. But if you go out there, you could make your own decisions in life and hopefully, you can do things that you never thought you could do, no matter how unpredictable things may seem. If my attempt fails, and I'm caught by a cop, if I'm not trashed or raped by gays yet, I know where I will go. To some youth hall or rehab, the equivalent of prison. And in prison, you get worse instead of better because you will be surrounded by people who only want to kill, rape and rob. And your future's lost. The moment you enter jail, or a correctional facility for that matter, it's game over.

So I can't get caught. It's foolproof. That is why Plan B is focused on survival outside the boundaries of civilisation, so that I can hide and be forgotten, so that I can plan anew on what to do with my life. But I have to plan things out carefully and not screw up in the first place, so that I will make it when I am out there.


	9. Chapter 8: Prep for Running Away

Chapter 8

The best time when cockroaches, rats and other pests come out to play, feast and forage is always in the dark of it is when I sneak out of my prison to collect materials and other things I would need to run away.

Before mum went to bed, she would always lock the basement door so that I wouldn't go out and murder her in her sleep or get the cops. But I guess she didn't care enough to find out whether I was prone to violence or had the aptitude to snitch on her. Come on, cops aren't that super effective, now to speak of. I've heard of cops caving in so easily to bribes that they even sell weed in prisons, earning more than their low pay as law enforcement officers. And cops have more serious matters to deal with, like gangs torching cars for no reason and drug dealers. I had searched about the basement and found lots of stuff which were collecting dust, waiting for me to use. Objects that are seemingly as useless as unicorns, but once you start thinking out of the box, you can get more than they are worth.

A mirror that can be used for signalling or making fires in the wild. I read about that a lot. There is no MacGyver mentality in me, but just simple common sense that every human should have to solve a problem. After poking about in some moth-eaten boxes, I find some hooks, a few rubber bands, a broken cabinet and a mini toolbox. Most toolboxes are bulky, heavy and troublesome to carry, but this one was specially small and light. Inside, I find some nails, screws, a small hammer, a mini saw almost the size of a toy one, a mini screwdriver and a pair of trusty pliers. I find some rope in another box. I briefly remember trying to make a kite with it in my younger happier days but it was a dismal failure. A bunch of rusty paper clips.

My mind goes back to those old Cold War escape films and I try to copy the movies by using the pliers to form a rake with one paper clip and a pressure-exerting tool with another. I gingerly stick the rake into the door knob and I am elated to hear something click. But it's all trial and error from there and the rest is history. But I make the lock open successfully without the use of a misbegotten key and I feel proud of myself. I creep pass the stairs to hear mum snoring in her room. Brandon seems to be asleep too as his bedroom light is open-he always sleeps with the lights on. I don't know why. I get a knife from the kitchen, some tinned food like Spam and beans (with a can opener too), which can last real long and a big loaf of bread. Some matches and garbage bags (you may never know!). My sleeping bag from those camping trips of old when the family was happier. A little money from my savings ($50) and a bag big enough to carry them all. A compass with some maps. A bottle for water, and I fill it beforehand. Some iodine tablets to cleanse water if I were to bug out in the wild. A mini first aid kit with fever pills, bandages and that kind of thing. A notebook and pen to jot my travels in (or to pen my last words before I die of hunger or hopelessness in some faraway land).

I slip back into my prison and lock back the door with a little more difficulty just as daybreak is approaching. Now all I have to do is to be patient and wait for the right time to bust out and run away. If I were to run away simply just like that, I may have missed out any issues that need careful consideration. But for know, I'm prepared and we're good.


	10. Chapter 9: Shipped off?-Threat

Chapter 9

Sometimes things don't go as planned. I remember mentioning that my plan was foolproof, but I didn't think about how I would move out.

I hear the clock strike nine at night, and mum is watching TV. Brandon is in his room, doing something and I'm still stuck in the basement. It has been two weeks of being a prisoner in this dark cellar, and I miss Tom and Samantha badly. I hope they are fine and not worrying too much about me, as I'll be running away anytime soon. The mum I knew is clearly gone, as she has forgotten many times to give me food. I feel tempted to break into my stash of food for my life on the run, with the troubling emptiness of my stomach, but I command my mind to force this temptation down.

I decide to pick the lock tomorrow night and run away before anyone puts two and two together. Mum thinks that I'm too obedient and loyal to make such a drastic move that only rebellious kids would dream of. I don't know about Brandon, but I figure that he can find his own way. I don't know what to do with him. I can't take him along as he can get violent and draw attention, as I have witnessed many times. To make decisions quickly especially as a fugitive requires a cool collective mind and personality. I can stay calm if I want to, given that my limits are not being tested excessively as Cato did.

My thoughts are interrupted by a sudden slam of the door. Mum stalks in drags me out and throws me some clothes. "You wear this or else I'll kill you." she threatens before storming upstairs to get Brandon ready. Ready for what? I have no idea until dad himself comes in. He looks gruff but focused on doing something frightening that I don't know. "We need to talk." he says. Apparently, he had somehow sobered up and come to his senses. The divorce thingy I heard from my friends was some trumped-up tale of neighbour who got all the details wrong. Dad left because he had heard of some kind of special program for us which could help Brandon and I. He had to make some arrangements for the program. I don't know how he and mum agreed on the matter, but something tells me that mum only agrees on matters concerning discipline and stern methods like caning and whatsoever. This can't be good.

Later the door bell rings and dad opens the door to invite an officer-like guy named Billy. He looks just like a US Marine with big muscles and all, wearing a khaki uniform. Billy refuses all offers of tea or coffee and goes straight to the point.

He says to dad in a crisp but official voice, "I know you made some wrong choices in life even as an adult, but I'm glad you made the right one by contacting us at the Union." "What union?" I ask. "Hush! don't interrupt the officer!" mum whispers sharply.

"Young man, you should learn some manners." Billy says in a pompous way. "Where I come from, you learn things the hard but effective way. I'm from Star Union, a special school for kids and youths alike who think they are too smart, but are not. They do have the potential however, but they don't know how to use it. Like you, lad." His eyes are on Brandon. "Your dad got me your records and Camp Stag, the correctional institution you got sent to is a branch of Star Union. I tell you that Camp Stag is kindergarten compared to Star Union, as the government handles it like crap. That's why you get in, get out and treat your parents like crap or go out selling weed or something like that. But we don't at Union. At Union, we will train you and teach you to be obedient children so that your parents won't have to break their backs. Take a look at this."

Billy opens up a large file and I peer at the photos in it. Rows of obedient kids doing drills, sit-ups and push-ups. Boys going on long road marches and playing football in the Junior League. But the thing that frightens me is that how emotionless those boys look. How blank and empty their eyes are, void of emotion. Although the Star Union thing looks interesting and could save me from a horrid life at home, I'm not going to escape from the lion only to run into an alligator.

"No thanks. I'm not going." I say. "Why is that so, young man?" Billy asks. "Do they look happy going there?" I say. "Please excuse my son," mum says briskly. "he is a very rebellious brat. He fights in school and even injured his school mate last week." "Rebellious?" Suddenly anger pulses through my veins. "Rebellious? You call me a rebel?!" I snarl, not believing what my own mum has said about me. I've been called pretty much every foul word ever known to man by mum but this is enough. "Hey young man," Billy says sternly. "It's up to your parents to decide and not you. You better hold your tongue or we'll hold it for you at Star."

Turning to dad, Billy says, "Well, sir. One thing I can promise you that if you decide to send both of your sons to Star Union, they will not only be changed for the better in terms of attitude and discipline, but there will be a 50% discount, that is if you decide to send them NOW."

It takes mum and dad five seconds to say, "Very well."

It takes two seconds for Brandon to pounce on them like a mad tiger broken out of its cage, roaring, "You can't send me there! I'll die there like i almost did."

I leap away to avoid myself from getting hurt. The next moments are chaotic. Apparently Billy had friends waiting outside, as I see strong youths in khaki bounding in to restrain Brandon and dragging him away to goodness knows where. I don't know if it's even legal, but it's happening. Billy gives a big sigh of relief and says, "You're not calling the cops, are you?"

"No sir." dad says.

"Don't worry, we get that kind of case every time. Rebellious kids on the verge of anarchy fighting back physically to get what they want. But we'll teach them that it's not the right thing to do. Such children will have to learn things the hard way. For such severe cases, we'll charge nothing."

"Thanks." mum mutters. "Don't thank me. I hate to see children act like hooligans." Billy says. "And your younger boy, will he come along?"

"When do I go?" I try to sound willing, not wanting to be the next one to be dragged out or to have another fracas break out again.

"Tomorrow."


End file.
